


Let Down Your Wings

by WinterSky101



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Fluff, Gen, Massage, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Wing Grooming, Wingfic, Wings, molting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29378196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSky101/pseuds/WinterSky101
Summary: Molting can be difficult, but at least Aziraphale has Crowley around to lend a hand.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Let Down Your Wings

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to repeated line about angels in Ezekiel 1:24-25: "[they] let down their wings."

"Aziraphale, for Go- for Sa- for _Someone's_ sake, are you coming or not?"

"Yes, yes," Aziraphale replied distractedly, "I just need to find a bookmark."

"Just fold down the corner," Crowley suggested, knowing full well Aziraphale would rather discorporate himself.

Sure enough, Aziraphale gave Crowley a look so dirty it would have sent lesser demons running. "Give me a moment, my dear," he said, and as Crowley watched, Aziraphale reached behind his back, did something mortal eyes weren't meant to see, and then pulled back with an expression of triumph and a feather. "There we are," he said, putting the feather carefully between the pages and closing the book with a gentle pat. "I'm ready to go now, if you are."

"Did you just pluck a feather to use as a bookmark?" Crowley demanded in disbelief.

"It was already loose," Aziraphale protested immediately. "I'm molting. It's rather a bother, actually. Feathers _everywhere_."

Crowley made a sympathetic face. "Molting's a right pain."

"And it's so _itchy_ ," Aziraphale added. "Goodness, I'd forgotten how itchy it is."

"Are you hinting that you don't want to go out?" Crowley asked dryly.

"What? No, not at all. I've been looking forward to seeing this exhibit for weeks. No, I'll be quite alright. It's only molting, after all."

"Then shall we get a move on, angel?"

"We shall," Aziraphale agreed, reaching for his coat, and Crowley thought that was the end of it.

Of course, it wasn't.

* * *

"Angel, what are you doing?"

"Hmm?" Aziraphale looked up distractedly from his book. Crowley would bet his own soul that he hadn't actually heard the question, just that someone was directing words towards him. Honestly, he was surprised Aziraphale heard anything at all. It wouldn't be the first time Crowley caught him gathering dust with a book, utterly unresponsive and paying absolutely no attention to anything in the world around him.

"What was that, my dear?" Aziraphale asked, more or less confirming Crowley's suspicions.

"I asked what you're doing."

Aziraphale looked down at himself. "What do you mean? I'm reading."

"And you're… _bouncing_."

Bouncing wasn't quite the right word for it, but it wasn't altogether wrong either. Aziraphale was sitting in a straight-backed, rather uncomfortable looking wooden chair, and he kept moving up and down, up and down, his back scraping across the back of the chair. To be entirely honest, it was starting to drive Crowley mad.

"Oh, that?" Aziraphale looked faintly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I can stop. I'm just so dreadfully itchy."

"Still?" Crowley asked. "Are you still molting?"

"I believe so," Aziraphale replied mournfully. "Oh, this whole thing is quite a nuisance. Normally, I'd pop up to Heaven, where they have the _loveliest_ wing-care stations, but at the moment…"

He trailed off delicately, but Crowley knew exactly what he meant. At the moment, entering Heaven was a decidedly bad idea, just as it would be for Crowley to enter Hell. Then again, there was nothing in Hell that could be described as lovely in even the loosest sense of the world, so it seemed like Aziraphale was missing out on more than Crowley was.

"Do you want me to help you with it, then?" Crowley offered.

Aziraphale looked stunned. "Oh! Oh, no, my dear, that's not necessary at all. I'll be quite alright, I promise. And I'll stop moving so much if it irritates you."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

Aziraphale sat as still as a statue the entire time until they left for dinner. It drove Crowley to distraction even more than the moving had. Clearly, something had to be done about this, and Crowley was fairly certain that, Aziraphale's protests aside, he was clearly the best demon for the job.

Now, he just had to convince Aziraphale of that.

* * *

As it turned out, Crowley didn't need to do much convincing at all. It was less than a full day later that he heard a knock on his apartment door, and when he opened it, Aziraphale was on the other side, wringing his hands nervously. "Crowley," he said quickly. "Ah, so lovely to see you. I… Well, I was wondering…"

"Do you want me to help with your wings?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale practically melted into a puddle on his doorstep. "Oh yes, it would be ever so nice if you could."

"Come on in, then," Crowley said, stepping aside.

Aziraphale eagerly stepped inside, looking far more relaxed than he had when he first knocked. "I did try to handle it myself," he told Crowley, "but the worst spot is at the very base of my wings, where it's so horribly difficult to reach. I even tried using a backscratcher, but I suppose they're not made for wings, because it wasn't very helpful."

"Don't worry about it, angel, I'll deal with it," Crowley said. "Do you want to sit up or lie down?"

"Whichever's easier, I suppose."

"Lying down it is." Crowley was fairly certain that would be more comfortable for both of them, and he also wanted to be prepared if Aziraphale turned out to be the type who fell asleep when someone groomed them. He'd never groomed Aziraphale before, so he couldn't be sure, but considering Crowley himself was most definitely that type, he thought it best to be prepared.

"If you say so, my dear. Shall I go on your bed, then?"

"It's the best place to lie down, yeah," Crowley agreed, leading Aziraphale through to his bedroom. He snapped up a comfortable armchair next to the bed and sat in it, then gestured for Aziraphale to lie down.

"Ah, give me a moment," Aziraphale said, taking off his jacket. He folded it neatly and set it down on the bedside table, then did the same with his waistcoat. He dithered with the buttons of his shirt, looking over at Crowley. "Ought I to remove this?"

"Might as well," Crowley agreed. "It'll make things easier."

Aziraphale obediently unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, then rolled his shoulders. His wings sprouted into existence, white and glowing and utterly bedraggled. The ends of the wings, which Aziraphale could easily reach himself, weren't too badly off, but the closer to the base they got, the worse they were.

"They're not too terrible, are they?" Aziraphale asked worriedly. "I… Well, I've always simply gone up to Heaven to have them deal with it before, and it's never been left this long."

"They're fine," Crowley assured him. "Looks uncomfortable, though."

"Oh, it is," Aziraphale agreed. "It's been absolutely awful for a while now. I wasn't going to bother you with it, but the situation grew more difficult to deal with, and you did offer, so…"

"And I meant it," Crowley said in a voice he'd deny to his dying day was gentle. "Lie down, angel. I'll deal with this."

Aziraphale lay down on his stomach on the bed, spreading his wings. Crowley took one of them on his lap and began to work. The ends were simple enough, so before too long, Crowley was able to move further up the wing, brushing out loose feathers and smoothing down the new ones.

And, he noticed, the further up the wing he went, the more Aziraphale began to move. It wasn't much movement, just little wiggles, but it was noticeable, and Crowley wanted to know where it was coming from, especially if it stemmed from discomfort.

"Are you alright?" he asked, brushing his fingers through a mess of loose feathers.

"Oh?" Aziraphale asked in a breathy voice. "Oh, yes, I'm quite alright."

"You sure?" Crowley asked, adding some more feathers to his pile of fallen ones. "You're acting weird."

"Well…" Aziraphale wasn't looking at him, but Crowley could picture the look on his face as he battled with himself over whether or not to reveal whatever was bothering him. It was a face he'd seen a lot over the past six thousand years.

"Well?" Crowley prompted when Aziraphale remained silent.

"This feels… When the angels in Heaven help with molting, it's very clinical. But this… This feels almost like a massage, and it's really quite lovely, Crowley, it's absolutely wonderful."

Crowley blinked. "So that's why you're wiggling all over the bed?"

"Am I?" Aziraphale asked mournfully. "Oh no, I'm so sorry. I've been trying not to."

"What? I wasn't complaining. If it feels nice, then good. I'd rather it feel nice than feel bad. Wiggle all you want."

"Won't it make things more difficult for you?"

"Nah. I'm fine, angel. You do whatever you want over there. As long as you don't get up from the bed, it should be fine."

"A-Alright, then."

Now that he'd been given permission, Aziraphale's shudders only increased, sometimes accompanied by little cut-off noises or soft sighs. Wings were more sensitive the closer you got to the base, Crowley knew, and he had the feeling Aziraphale's reactions were only going to get more intense. He meant what he said, though; he'd work around Aziraphale's movements if he had to, but he wasn't going to tell him not to move. Wing grooming was supposed to be a pleasant experience, and if Heaven had made it nothing but cold professionalism, then Crowley, who was full of spite, would make it even more pleasant in response. He gentled his already-gentle movements and slowed to a languid pace, carefully massaging loose feathers out of their places and smoothing new ones down with a delicacy he rarely showed for anything. In response, Aziraphale grew more and more boneless on the bed, tension seeping out of him in a way Crowley had never seen before. In all six thousand years they'd known each other, Crowley didn't think he'd ever seen Aziraphale so relaxed.

When he finished the first wing and took his hands away, Aziraphale let out a sad little mewling noise. Crowley waited for him to apologize for it, but apparently he was so far gone he was beyond embarrassment. Crowley reveled in his triumph.

"It's alright, angel," he reassured him. "Just switching to the other wing." He snapped his armchair over to the other side of the bed, then sat down in it and began repeating the grooming process on Aziraphale's other wing. Aziraphale relaxed again, occasionally letting out sighs of pleasure when Crowley would massage out a particularly uncomfortable loose feather. He was still awake, but he wasn't particularly aware. It was a sign of trust, Crowley knew, and he was grateful his angel would offer it to him.

Even after he finished the necessary grooming, Crowley kept his hands buried in Aziraphale's wings. He could almost pretend it was solely self-serving - Aziraphale's feathers were wonderfully soft, and he enjoyed the feel of them - but he didn't have to, not anymore. Hell was no longer on his back, so he didn't have to worry about justifying his actions to them. He'd never tell anyone else, of course, but to himself, he could admit that he kept grooming Aziraphale because he knew Aziraphale was enjoying it. That was reason enough to do something in his book.

Finally, Crowley did pull his hands away. "You're all done, angel," he told Aziraphale gently. "All groomed and neat. You should be itch-free now."

Aziraphale hummed, slowly opening his eyes. "Crowley, it feels magnificent," he murmured. "I'm not sure my wings have ever felt this nice before. Certainly they would never feel so nice after I went up to Heaven."

"That's cause Heaven is full of self-righteous arseholes who suck the joy out of everything."

Aziraphale didn't protest the judgment, which was as good as agreement. Instead, he fluttered his wings slightly, then pulled them in until they vanished onto a different plane of existence. The room felt emptier without them.

"What do you want to do with these?" Crowley asked, pointing at the pile of fallen feathers at the end of the bed.

"Well, we certainly ought to be careful with them," Aziraphale said, sitting up. "Angel feathers can be used in a whole manner of devious incantations. I suppose getting rid of them would be the safest option. Burning, perhaps."

"You don't want to keep them?" Crowley asked, looking at the feathers with a slightly wistful expression.

"Why don't you keep them, my dear?" Aziraphale asked, clearly catching the look on Crowley's face. "You'll keep them safe, I'm sure. And if we ever find ourselves needing angel feathers, we'll have a supply."

"You sure about that, angel?" Crowley asked. "They're yours, after all."

"And now they're yours," Aziraphale replied. "I'll just burn them. Do what you will with them instead."

Crowley looked at the pile of feathers, then he snapped them into a box in his closet. "I'll take good care of them."

"I'm sure you will," Aziraphale agreed. He rolled his shoulders, then stood. "Now, what would you say to a bite to eat? I'll treat you, of course. I saw a delicious looking place on the way here that I'd love to try out. Ethiopian food, it looked delightful."

Crowley grinned. "Lead the way."

Aziraphale headed for the door, then turned back around. "Thank you, Crowley. Truly."

Crowley shuddered. "Ugh, don't do that. You're so bloody earnest it's giving me hives."

Aziraphale smiled slightly. "Even so. Tha-"

"Thank me by not saying that anymore," Crowley interrupted. "Let's get going. Ethiopian food, right? Sounds good, let's go."

Aziraphale smile widened. It didn't go to the level of nearly blinding that his smiles sometimes did, but it was fairly close.

"Very well. Off we go."

And off they went.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing tumblr is [here](http://winterskywrites.tumblr.com/), if you're interested.


End file.
